


Hunt's End

by bluebeholder



Series: the longest night [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fae & Fairies, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, the wild hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: Tonight is the night of the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. Tonight, Sam Winchester leads the Wild Hunt. And tonight, he hunts the most dangerous quarry of all: the Erlking himself.





	Hunt's End

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Winter Solstice! Welcome back to the Fic Universe No One Asked For; this has officially gone well beyond its original limits. It's got _crossovers_ , for heaven's sake. Take a look in the background: you will spot Percival and Queenie among the hunters. (Read "[The Last Magic of Summer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12161403)" to understand the references to the Autumn Equinox that Sam makes.) 
> 
> I do think that this is the final fic in the solstice-verse itself; I don't plan to continue this next year. You may well see Sam again, because a Spring Equinox fic (and maybe a Summer Solstice one?) are nearly mandatory. Also, the second chapter of this will post on Christmas Day...to round things out for good.
> 
> Obviously this is canon noncompliant to all hell and back, but I’m not going to worry about it. 
> 
> Warning for a lot of blood. A _lot_ of blood.
> 
> This is the Wild Hunt.

Since the autumn equinox, Sam had felt a cloud hanging over him.

He didn’t understand it. Their successes in the last year had been remarkable, and for once they’d had nothing apocalyptic, no world-ending catastrophes, no monsters, no devils, nothing. And still, Sam was fairly convinced that something would go horribly wrong.

It was the eve of the winter solstice and he stood in his room, looking at himself in the mirror on the closet doors. Jess, at his side and grown to magnificent size, barked. Her voice was deep now, and though she was still growing her paws were finally in proportion to her body. She’d be a true mastiff soon, a hound of the Wild Hunt, and something about her bark caught Sam every time, making him feel the hiss of winter wind on his face.

Something was changing in him. It had been slow, but since the night of the equinox, a wild night indeed, Sam had felt the changes accelerating. His reflexes were sharper and so were his teeth; he was stronger, more enduring, more perceptive. And he knew Dean and Cas saw it, too.

Dean came in without knocking. “Hey,” he said. “You got a minute?”

“Was just about to go,” Sam said, turning around with a smile. “What’s up?”

His brother’s arms were folded, and he was giving his best glare of concern. “You’ve got to be careful out there tonight. Who knows what you’ll be hunting?”

“I’m fairly sure I can handle it, whatever it is,” Sam said. He went across the room and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I do,” Dean said. His whole stance was tense. “Can’t stop you from going. But you’d better come home, Sam.”

Sam rocked back a little, surprised. “Do you think I won’t?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Dean said. He pulled Sam into a hug and Sam went with it. It was the kind of hug Dean generally tended to give in moments of crisis. Was this a crisis?

He met Cas on his way to the stairs and was stopped there, too. “Come home, when it’s over,” Cas said, and hugged Sam too.

“Why are you so afraid?” Sam asked quietly.

“Because you’re already out the door,” Cas said. He had the angel voice on, the one that meant he was sharing deep knowledge, things he knew by instinct as a being older than mankind. “Because the magic is in you. You ate at the table of the Erlking and you made a bargain with him. That would be dangerous with any of the Fair Folk, but he is only one thing. He is the Hunt itself, the spirit of blood and the chase. He cannot change his nature. And that nature, with your bargain, with that horn you carry, with the hound he has given you, with the invitation to your table, that nature is in _you_. He has a claim on you, and for all that he may love you…it is the love of a being you can never truly understand.”

“You think he’ll…keep me?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said.

Dean came up beside him. “Look. We’re not letting you go without protection,” he said, and dropped an object into Sam’s hand. “Put it on.”

Sam looked down and saw a gruesome little head, painted in chipping gold. “Your amulet?”

“It’s a thing of mortal magic now,” Cas said. “Meaning. Human love. Human kindness. A bargain of blood between you and Dean, as strong as the bond between you and the Erlking.”

“Come on, Sam,” Dean said. “Just…for us, okay?”

Carefully, Sam slipped the cord over his head and tucked the amulet under his shirt. It rested, heavy and warm from Dean’s hand, over his heart. “I’ll come home,” he said. “I promise. I’m not going away forever.”

He climbed the stairs without looking back, Jess on his heels. His mind turned to the Hunt ahead, to the Erlking, and when he licked his lips he felt his teeth scratch his tongue. The door of the Bunker creaked when he opened it, the night air cold. Last year there had been snow so heavy that the door would barely open; this year, there was no snow at all. But the night air was cold, and Sam stood in the middle of the road and shivered.

For a moment, he looked up at the stars. Soon enough he’d be joining them. The thought made echoes of songs he didn’t know, but felt he should, ring in his ears.

He lifted the hunting horn to his lips and sounded it.

And mere moments later, they began to arrive.

Last year, Sam and the Erlking had ridden alone, and the year before that there had been four riders, with Rowena and Crowley joining Sam and Dean. But this…this was a host. Every rider unearthly beautiful, every rider strange. Sam was smart enough to recognize that every single being was one of the Fair Folk—and not one of the weaker vassals of the courts.

A woman with white hair, lips the color of frozen mulberries, and a crown of ice rode a white horse at the head of a troop of fair folk whose steeds left icy footprints where they traveled. At the head of a second troop was a mirror image: a woman with silver hair, a gown of gold, and a crown of twisted living vines rode a white horse whose hooves left clover springing up where it walked. Sam did his research: these were queens of winter and summer, Mab and Titania. And with Titania rode a lord, handsome and dark, with eyes of gold and wings like a dragonfly: this was Oberon, it had to be. A laurel-wreathed centaur, a golden cloak draped over his shoulders, watched Sam with dark eyes; if it was anyone, this was Chiron, greatest of the centaurs.

Further back from the first rank Sam saw others—a woman in a blue robe with cloudy hair; the lord he recognized from the autumn equinox, lady by his side; a hooded woman with evil eyes; and more, more than Sam could recognize. He shivered, under the weight of their terrible gaze. They knew him, perhaps better than he knew himself, and they judged him.

Then the Erlking rode forward, the host parting around him, making way for his black steed, for the great pack of hounds. The bells on the horse’s tack jingled. That was the only sound in the whole world. And Sam was afraid.

He bowed when the Erlking dismounted his horse, but found his hand immediately taken and himself pulled upright. “Do not bow to me, Sam Winchester,” the Erlking said with a smile.

“This is your night,” Sam felt compelled to say.

“No,” the Erlking said. He leaned down from his great height to kiss Sam, and Sam was only mildly horrified that this was happening in front of an audience. After the autumn equinox…modesty was really kind of dead to him. “It is yours.”

There was a murmur of excitement. Sam glanced around and saw smiles, sharp and savage, on many faces. “What do you mean?”

“This is the night when I yield my place, if you choose to accept it,” the Erlking said, taking a step back. He opened his arms, as if to encompass the assembled host. “Tonight, the lords and ladies of the Otherworld will bear witness to the giving-up of the mantle of the Wild Hunt’s power.”

“To me.”

“To you.”

Sam swallowed hard and didn’t answer.

The Erlking held out a spear. “Take this.” Sam took it, even as the Erlking took his own hunting horn from his side and held it out. “And this. You cannot lead the Hunt without it.”

Slowly, sure that he was doing something that couldn’t be taken back, Sam took the horn. It was heavy in his hands, thrumming with power. He looked at the Erlking. “Is this it?”

“No,” the Erlking said. “To be the Lord of the Wild Hunt, the Huntsman, you must prove yourself truly worthy, and hunt the most dangerous prey of all.”

The idea of a dragon or something even more fearsome flashed through Sam’s head. And then a terrible thought occurred to him. He shivered, as if the wind were howling. “I have to hunt you.”

“Drive me to ground, as if you pursued a stag or a boar. Claim your kill, by the bond of blood, and let the mantle of power rest upon your shoulders.” The Erlking’s eyes glittered in the light of the lanterns held by the enchanted host. “It will be no easy feat, Sam Winchester. And should doubt rest in your heart, then you have no chance at all. Do you doubt yourself?”

“I’ve hunted the Devil himself,” Sam said. “I’ve hunted the sister of God. I have chased the stag and the boar at your side. I have brought down all the most dangerous quarries in the world, and I do not doubt my ability. I am ready to lead the Hunt.”

The Erlking’s smile was sharp as he helped Sam courteously into the saddle of the great black steed. Sam settled into his seat and looked down. The Erlking bowed low. “It is an honor to be your quarry,” he said. He reached up and for a moment they clasped hands.

And then he turned and ran, faster than any man could run. For a moment he was a silhouette, then a shadow, then…gone. But Sam could feel him, the pull of the quarry, and knew exactly where they would run.

The first flakes of snow began to fall.

He raised the hunting horn to his lips and blew.

The hounds burst into thunderous barks, filling the world, and Sam spurred his steed forward. He heard the hooves of the horses around him as his companions followed, giving chase, but heeded them not at all. Blood pounded in Sam’s ears and all he knew was the call of the quarry, of the Erlking.

Already they were in that strange between, the sky where snow drove and the stars were above and below, wind slashing at Sam’s face. He was hot, nearly feverish, body aching though he didn’t care about that. There were tracks to follow. He urged the hounds on with shout and horn, the calls coming to him naturally, as if he had always known them. Around him weaker horns sounded, nowhere near a match for his, and joyous shouts of the other hunters. He glanced back and saw their horses plunging onwards, the whole host shining and flickering with terrible light.

Over hill and over dale they rode, and everywhere their hooves touched the ground frost bit the world. Neither bush nor brier could prevent their passing. Parks drove full of snow at their ride and fences toppled at their feet. Flood and fire alike only spurred them on faster. And ahead, always ahead, Sam saw the shape of the Erlking, leading them tirelessly on.

It seemed as if Sam could ride forever. The chase was in his blood. He felt the Erlking flagging, knew that his end was coming, that if he ran much longer his heart would burst, and knew that the chase was nearly at an end. He spurred the Wild Hunt on again, calling them forward, and they answered him as if he were the master of the hunt.

On a frigid mountaintop they ran the Erlking to ground. He stopped in a snow field, above the timberline, panting like a deer. But he did not cower: rather, when Sam reined in his steed the Erlking turned, spear in his hand. He snarled at Sam as if at a stranger, taking a fighting stance.

Sam swung himself from the saddle. He felt the eyes of the watching lords and ladies. This was the final test. He had run the quarry to ground; now he must make his kill. He held the spear warily and made his approach.

They circled each other in the snow. Sam was wary: there was nothing in the world more dangerous than a beast backed into a corner. And the Erlking was a beast, no mistake: he was the spirit of the hunter and the quarry, though Sam had never seen this part of him. He was the whole of the Hunt, in all its terrible glory.

He came at Sam in a burst of speed that nearly took Sam off his feet. Sam dived out of the way, rolling through a snowdrift and leaping back to his feet. The Erlking laughed sharply and turned fast, charging Sam again. Sam gritted his teeth and stepped aside at the last moment, lashing out with the spear. He caught the Erlking on the shoulder and bright blood sprayed in the air, steaming on the snow.

The Erlking was warier, then, and approached Sam squarely. He swung the spear and Sam blocked the blow. He stepped back, spear level, ready for the next blow, and the Erlking obliged. They traded blows as the wind howls around them and the hounds bark, waiting.

And then it happened: Sam saw the Erlking leave an opening. Sam took the advantage and drove his spear forward with all his strength, right into the right side of the Erlking’s chest. The Erlking cried out, the scream of a hare and the bugle of an elk, and collapsed prone into the snow, knocking away the spear.

Sam drew close, pulling out his knife on an instinct he didn’t quite understand. He knelt beside the Erlking, hearing his ragged breath. “I don’t know what to do,” Sam said.

“Claim what is yours,” the Erlking said, slowly bringing up a hand to rest over his heart. His eyes were no longer wild, but calm. Ready.

It was like his hand was being pulled by a magnet. Sam raised the knife and, with a strength that he knew he shouldn’t have, drove it down. The athame tore through flesh and sliced bone, splitting the Erlking’s chest in a physically impossible way. Blood spilled, staining the snow red, and Sam yelled in sudden fear. He clutched the athame more tightly, and stared at the beating heart before him. He knew, with a sickening lurch, what he had to do.

He couldn’t do it.

But if he didn’t, if he doubted now…the power would run loose. Sam knew the rules. He was well-educated enough to understand that if he let this go now that the mantle would go unclaimed. The consequences would be earth-shattering.

He leaned down and kissed the Erlking with a bloody mouth.

And then Sam sliced the heart from the Huntsman’s chest. He held it in his hands and stared at it, slowly beating. There was a hunger burning in him that should have scared him. Instead, he was excited.

His teeth sliced into the heart as if they were knives.

The world went white.

Sam felt his bones cracking, felt as if his skull would split, as if he would die from the pain. He fell backwards, screaming into the sky. Sam had endured pain in his life. This was the worst he had ever experienced. He was being consumed from the inside out.

When he came back to himself, he was on his knees in the snow. His head felt weighed down, as if he wore a crown; when he licked his lips, he tasted too much blood. The Erlking’s and his own.

A very human hand was on his shoulder. Laboriously, Sam raised his head and looked into familiar eyes. “Well done, Sam,” the former Erlking murmured.

“You’re…alive,” Sam said stupidly.

“You took only the mantle of power,” he said, and helped Sam upright. Sam felt taller and stronger than before, and a cloak of fur and pine had been draped over his shoulders. He faced the host and saw no judgement there, only a fearsome regard.

“Welcome, Huntsman,” Titania said in a clear voice. Her power was no longer so awesome, no longer frightful. Sam smiled, when she spoke, and bowed low. His body was guided by a power he didn’t understand, but trusted.

A cheer, a roar of approval, rose from the fairy host. The adulation filled Sam’s soul and he _knew_ with certainty that he was no longer simply Sam Winchester. He was the falcon and the hound, the pounding heart of the horse and the bark of the pursued fox, the bearer of the hunting horn and the spear, the quarry and the hunter.

He was the Erlking.


End file.
